


The One Where Quentin Gets Turned into a Cat.

by RedBlazer



Series: There's a Great, Big, Beautiful Tomorrow (Shining at the End of Every Day) [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), Animal Transformation, Cats, Collars, Depression, Fade to Black, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lumberjack Chris should be canonical, M/M, Off Screen Kink Negotiation, POV Eliot Spencer, Protective Eliot Waugh, The care and keeping of a boyfriend who is now a cat, There might be smut later who knows?, mention of a threesome, sunbeams, whoops! oh no I spilled my other fic onto this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedBlazer/pseuds/RedBlazer
Summary: “A cat. Quentin is a cat?” Eliot said, deadpan. Everyone nodded. He set off towards the bushes, getting his knees all dirty because he was trying to get an eye on this cat who was in there somewhere. "Quentin!"“Eliot, he’s a cat. He’s Quentin but he’s also a cat. He’s not gonna fucking come if you call him.”“What are you even talking about?” Eliot moved some branches out of the way. In the shade he saw a pair of luminous golden eyes glowing, a tiny body shivering and pressed to the siding of The Cottage. “Hey--it’s okay.” Eliot basically had to get on the ground, reach his long arm out until he almost had him.“That’s not a great idea--” Alice ran over.A shocking pain went through Eliot as a set of sharp claws swiped at his forearm. “Quentin!” Eliot gritted his teeth and grabbed him by the scruff, ignoring the frantic rabbit kicking of his back legs and the awful hissing and yowling he made as Eliot pulled him out from the bushes.“He’s a cat, dude.” Penny said. “Like how we were geese and knew how to fly in formation. Or when we were foxes and we could den so we didn’t freeze to death. Quentin’s a cat. He’s gonna do cat shit.”
Relationships: Margo Hanson/Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: There's a Great, Big, Beautiful Tomorrow (Shining at the End of Every Day) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802527
Comments: 59
Kudos: 181





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because I had the idea and Hoko_Onchi said, "Do it!"

Eliot was barbecuing. Not waiting with baited breath. Definitely not hovering. No, that was definitely not Eliot’s style. 

Had he made a pitcher of something fruity, bubbly, and sweet to go along with the watermelon, feta, and mint salad, and the six-cheese mac and cheese that was sitting in the warm oven inside? Yes. Yes he had.

And it had nothing to do with the fact that it had been _four weeks_ since The Trials--and thus four weeks since Quentin had gone away to Brakebills South. Eliot had heard some teachers off-handedly mentioning that the portal had been opened back up--they kept it closed so none of the students could _escape,_ he’d learned personally last year.

So Eliot was barbecuing in the hopes that if anyone were to come along, say hungry and tired from four weeks of academic torture, Eliot might be able to sweep them off their feet with a good meal to fuel roughly 14 hours of acrobatic sex. Well, not just anyone.

He hoped Quentin got to keep the outfit, those white pants had been _something._

But then when footsteps cleared over the little hill out behind The Cottage and several figures all in white came into sight, there wasn’t one among them with nice, soft hair and a turned-down little mouth.

There was just Penny stalking angrily next to Kady, who was yawning and needed to condition her hair, beside them Alice marched over with her hands in little fists, and Julia was on the other end, arms wrapped around a bundle with a pinched expression on her face. They were all bickering. Ah, children.

“It’s not fucking worth it--you can’t reason with him when he’s like that, Julia.” Penny growled when they were in earshot.

“Shut up, Penny!” Julia _and_ Alice both exclaimed at the same time. Kady put her hands over her ears like she was nursing a particularly rough hangover.

 _“Jesus Christ.”_ Penny rolled his eyes. He’d ripped the arms off his Brakebills South uniform, an interesting touch.

And Eliot would have been innocently ogling Penny’s biceps if it wasn't for a sinking sensation happening in his stomach. Eliot took off his sunglasses and squinted at the little party as they grew closer. Fuck, if it wasn’t a reminder that he needed to put on his actual glasses or reup his eyesight charm. Later. Just _later._

“This is your fault, dude!” Kady growled at him, turning away and giving him the cold shoulder when he turned to her and tried to put an arm around her.

“I said I was _fucking sorry!”_ Penny insisted, looking like he was about to rip his hair out, which was kind of a departure from his usual brooding silence. “He’s fine!”

“He’s not--” Julia hissed at him, “Ouch! Motherfuck--” She swore as a little white paw emerged from the bundle in her arms and scratched her across the face. Julia recoiled in shock and her arms loosened on the bundle--a Brakebills South sweater if the patch was to be believed--and a hissing, yowling _creature_ tumbled to the ground, tangled up in the sweater. “Fuck! Get him!”

But before anyone could do anything, there was a flash of white as a cat emerged from the sweater, ears folded back against its head, and made a beeline right for the massive hydrangea bushes that grew around the patio of the cottage.

Something was burning.

“How the fuck am I supposed to ‘get him’?” Penny asked, already pouring himself a drink from the chilled pitcher by the grill. He picked up the little umbrella Eliot had already placed in the glass and threw it into the grill. It ignited in a flash.

Eliot stared at them, hands on his chambray short clad hips. He’d worn his little preppy polo with the blue piping that Quentin liked because he was all about _arms._ His hair was fucking perfect. Eliot had spent an absurd amount of time exfoliating his entire body so he’d be nothing but silky smooth under Quentin’s cold-roughed hands. He’d grilled.

_Where the fuck was his boyfriend._

“Did you see where he went?” Julia asked, the sleeve of her white sweater dress pressed to the cuts on her face.

“Hold on, let me just--I can close those.” Alice broke in, hands already working through a nifty little sanitizing/healing combo that was good for minor injuries.

“You’re such a piece of work.” Kady growled, taking the drink from Penny and slamming it back.

There was a low, mournful howl from the hydrangeas.

“Hi--” Eliot broke in, snapping his fingers so the lid of the grill slammed closed with a clang that made everyone jump. “Sorry to barge in, but _what the fuck?_ Where’s Quentin?”

“Um, it all happened so fast.” Alice said, brushing a lock of her hair behind an ear nervously, shoulders around her ears. “He’s _fine._ He’s--” and then she pointed at the bushes, which twitched.

“You just _couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”_ Kady said, refilling her glass. “We were like, _this close_ to leaving!” Penny looked like he was going to throw up. “You better fucking apologize when he turns back.”

“I will--look.” Penny intoned, lower.

 _“Wait, wait, wait.”_ Eliot held up a hand. “You’re telling me, Mayakovsky turned Quentin into _that,_ a cat and sent it out into the storm? Why are you all back on two legs?”

“We were foxes!” Julia said, touching her newly healed cheek, her fingers still tacky with blood. “It was so strange right?” she looked at the others for confirmation, they all nodded. “Quentin’s a weirdly good digger--anyway. We turned back and then right as we were about to leave _someone_ had to try for one last jab. And of course Quentin defended Penny, so Mayakovsky called him a ‘Pussy’ and then turned him into a cat--which that guy is so fucking sexist. What a creep.”

Eliot blinked at all of them.

“A cat. Quentin is a cat?” Eliot said, deadpan. Everyone nodded. He set off towards the bushes, getting his knees all dirty because he was trying to get an eye on this _cat_ who was in there somewhere. “I’ll kill him. Not you, Q. Can you just come out? We’ll take you to Fogg, get this all settled! I’m so sorry.”

Penny approached, standing a few feet away. He squatted down by Eliot and gently (for Penny) said, “Eliot, he’s a cat. He’s Quentin but he’s also _a cat._ He’s not gonna fucking come if you call him.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Eliot moved some branches out of the way. In the shade he saw a pair of luminous golden eyes glowing, a tiny body shivering and pressed to the siding of The Cottage. “Hey--it’s okay.” Eliot basically had to get on the ground, reach his long arm out until he almost _had him._

“That’s not a great idea--” Alice ran over.

A shocking pain went through Eliot as a set of sharp claws swiped at his forearm. _“Quentin!”_ Eliot gritted his teeth and grabbed him by the scruff, ignoring the frantic rabbit kicking of his back legs and the _awful_ hissing and yowling he made as Eliot pulled him out from the bushes.

“He’s a cat, dude.” Penny said. “Like how we were geese and knew how to fly in formation. Or when we were foxes and we could den so we didn’t freeze to death. Quentin’s a _cat._ He’s gonna do cat shit.”

Yes, Eliot was _aware_ of that now. Now that his forearms were a bloody mess and there were puffs of white fur floating through the air around him. Quentin was hissing and struggling to get free, his eyes huge and panicked.

“Move--” Eliot cleared a path to the door, bumping Alice and Margo gently as he could with his mind away from the door, which popped open with a thought. Eliot dropped Quentin to the ground in the kitchen and he disappeared within seconds somewhere deep inside The Cottage.

Sweating and bleeding from several of the long, thin scratches left behind by his boyfriend--not in a fun way--Eliot turned back to the group of first years all standing on the patio, looking a bit shocked.

“You’re all coming with me. Now.” Eliot said, grabbing Penny telekinetically by the ear when he paused and didn’t follow. “Motherfucking Hogwarts bullshit. If I don’t get laid in the next three hours, I’m gonna burn the place to the ground.” Eliot muttered.

\--------

Three hours later, the defeated little group of Eliot, Alice, and Kady wandered back into The Cottage. Fogg had been a little surprised but not at all helpful when they told him about Quentin’s newfound feline predicament. And it sounded like this hadn’t been the first time this happened.

_“Of course, Mr. Coldwater can be excused from classes for the week until the spell wears off, but I’m afraid there’s really nothing more I can offer. That’s usually how this goes.”_

Eliot still hadn’t let anyone deal with his scratches. He’d held them up like proof that _hello, maybe transfiguring a first year with depression and anxiety wasn’t a great fucking idea._ They should sue this place.

“Hey guys!” Todd ran in from the living room when the door closed, looking tan and smelling like coconut. Eyes all bright like he was still riding high from Encanto Oculto--which Eliot had missed because he’d been weirdly not _okay_ with hooking up with other people since he and Quentin hadn’t talked about a hall pass before he’d turned into a goose--and he had the audacity to open his mouth and ask, “Who’s kitty is that under the piano?”

Eliot grumbled under his breath, “Mine,” and again found himself lying on the ground, this time on the hardwood floor of The Cottage.

Quentin was a small thing. Now that he wasn’t actively trying to take off Eliot’s hand, he could see that Quentin was all white, kind of fluffy. He had ears that looked a bit too big for his head and all his limbs tucked under him like a loaf of bread. He was _shaking._

“Oh, _Quentin.”_

Quentin blinked back at him, pressed himself further into the corner under the piano when Eliot reached a hand out to pet him _because that’s what you do, when you can’t hug him, when he’s a cat._ His ears folded back and the fur on the back of his neck puffed up and Eliot had spent enough time trying to coax barn cats up in the hayloft into any kind of affection to know that was not a _good_ sign.

“Maybe some food?” Alice said quietly. “Maybe he’ll warm up with some food. Tuna--like the really smelly kind. They like that. Cats.”

Quentin liked coffee and scrambled eggs and bland starchy foods when he didn’t feel good. Could cats eat mac and cheese?

“Be right back.” Eliot hauled himself off the floor, joints popping in protest.

Bambi was coming out of the bathroom when he circled the top of the steps, a big cloud of steam puffing out after her. She took one look at him, “Something’s wrong. And now I don’t even get to tell you about the new pleasure palace.”

“My boyfriend is a cat.” Eliot held out his arm, still smarting and kind of itchy but no longer bleeding.

“Mayakovsky, what a fucking cockbag.” Margo shook her head. She wrapped her towel around herself more securely and took him by the arm into her room. He sat on the bed and told her everything while she dried off and slathered herself in cocoa butter. Focused on helping detangle her hair with a wooden wide tooth comb while she said things like, “Well--how different will he _really_ be?” and “You want me to jerk you off, will that make you feel better?”

No. As nice as the offer was, Eliot couldn’t feel anything but sad and helpless when he thought about Quenin all scared huddled under the piano. It was a total boner killer.

He should be waking up from a nap right about now to Quentin all pliant and dazed in the bed next to him. Instead, he was drinking the rest of the watered down pitcher of drinks he’d made while he was sitting on the floor, staring at the shivering white ball of fur under the piano and the untouched saucer of tuna someone had slid under the bench nearby.

Eventually, Penny and Julia slipped into the house, looking a bit guilty with some bags from Target.

“Hey, man.” Penny had a litter box tucked under one arm. Eliot lit a cigarette. Just when he thought things couldn’t get _weirder._ “We figured--we’ll stick it in the closet down here so he can, you know.”

“So my boyfriend doesn't start marking his territory?” Eliot flicked ash into his empty glass.

“We got him some catnip toys.” Julia said, off-handedly. “Figured that might help with his mood?”

“Really?” Alice asked, practically bouncing on her toes. So fucking predictable.

The air left the room.

Eliot cleared his throat, “What about his meds?”

 _“Fuck.”_ Julia, Penny, and Alice all said in unison.

“I don’t know if he was even taking them. Down there.” Alice said, screwing her mouth up to the side in concentration. “We didn’t bring anything with us.”

Julia dropped the bags on the floor, pressed her hands to her temples. “Jesus Christ, you’re right. I don’t think he was.”

“Yeah, he didn’t look good there. But that was like--all of us. Fucking sucked.” Penny added, stooping to look under the piano bench. “He’s just really scared right now. He knows where he is, it’s just a lot. I don’t think he’s _you know._ ”

Eliot shook his head, “Well, I guess Henry got his way, didn’t he?”

Quentin had come to him day one, panicked and wide eyed asking about a portal off of campus. To New Jersey of all places. Eliot had helped, stood awkwardly in the driveway of a little cul de sac while Quentin went inside and talked to his _dad_ for an hour, emerging victorious with three bottles his dad had picked up earlier that week at CVS. Quentin has shrugged and said something to the effect of, “I handed over the pills I had, he didn’t say anything about getting more.”

Ever since, they’d taken little day trips to go get his prescription refilled once a month. They’d gone to CVS then got some ice cream, wandered about while walking shoulder to shoulder became hand in hand and then Quentin had kissed him shyly on a subway platform the second time they’d gone. 

On the last trip, it had been blustery with snow, December in New York City and Quentin was so predictable, he’d made them go look at the tree at Rockefeller Center. Eliot took him to look at the window displays at Bergdorf Goodman.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think about this until now. So fucking stupid.” Eliot got up off the floor. “Bambi--what he had left is in his dresser in the top drawer.”

Margo nodded and scampered up the stairs.

“What do we do?” Alice asked. “We can’t--he’s so little.”

“Can we take him to Lipson?” Julia said, “Can she help?”

“Guys--you’re freaking him out.” Penny crossed his arms and nodded his head towards the piano.

“We can’t just put him back on his meds without his consent.” Eliot said. “How did we--this school is fucking bullshit. What if he was a diabetic? They would have made sure he had his _fucking insulin_ then.” 

Julia knelt down as Eliot put out one cigarette, already pulling another from the case. “He’ll be okay. This isn’t the first time that Quentin’s gone off his meds. Though it’s probably the weirdest. We couldn’t talk for _days._ We’ll figure it out.”

Eliot took a rough drag and hoisted himself up off the floor. His ass was gonna be _sore_ the next day--insert joke about how that would have _also_ been the case if Quentin weren’t a cat _here_ \--and he just felt _bad._ Let down for selfish reasons like wanting to spoil his boyfriend. But if Quentin _weren’t_ a cat, would he have been able to tell that something was off about him? Would Quentin have volunteered this information?

There were just a lot of questions, namely: when was he going to just eat the damn tuna? It smelled terrible.

Margo came tottering down the steps in her high heels, a few orange bottles rattling around in her hands. Abilify. Wellbutrin. Adderall. Eliot took the caps off, they were each nearly empty. They’d need to get him more before he turned back--make sure there wasn’t a reason for Quentin to not take them. Hey, what was love if not conning your local pharmacy for antidepressants?

“What if we just put that bubble boy spell on him so he can’t hurt himself and then get him kinda high?” Margo asked with a raised eyebrow. Everyone turned and looked at her with wide eyes. “Oh come on, my aunt has a medical marijuana card for her Lhasa Apso! Like high for a pet in the suburbs. We’re not gonna stick a little ecstasy tab on his lil tongue.”

There was a ringing in Eliot’s ear that would _not_ go away.

Eliot waved a hand, “Fine. Get Josh, tell him to bring whatever is _calming_ and won’t at all make him prone to climbing the curtains.”

\--------

None of them could really know for sure that Penny was telling the truth, but they had to trust him. So when he said, “Guys, he mostly just wants everyone to go away so he can lick his balls. Put the oil on the lightbulb or whatever, he doesn’t give a shit.”

So Josh held out the little bottle to Eliot, who took the dropper and squeezed the top until a couple drops fell onto the warm lightbulb of the lamp in the dining room. He smelled nothing really except cinnamon-- “That’s the key, it rounds out the mouthfeel. This shit is great, I’m telling you. Just nice, mellow vibes. You can put it on his paw too. It’s mostly CBD, a little THC. I give it to my grandma when she gets weird at Passover. It’s _really_ nice in a hot toddy”

“Charming. Did you bring anything _actually_ fun?” Bambi said.

So then Josh was pulling open a great big case like he was selling snake oil at a side show and everyone crowded around him while Eliot went over to look under the piano again. Even after an _hour_ he was in the same place as before.

Eliot puttered around and filled a shallow bowl with water and left it by Quentin, unwrapped some of the toys and threw them about, sat on the floor and tried to entice him out from under the piano. But Quentin’s eyes were huge and unblinking every time Eliot made contact. He didn’t budge.

“Come on,” Alice nudged him with her shoe. “He won’t come out when people are around. Cat thing. Quentin thing.”

“I _like_ cats.” Josh said, packing a bong on the couch. “I respect their independence.”

So Eliot resolved to get spectacularly high to cope with the fact that he’d totally dropped the ball regarding Quentin’s mental health. That he was a little bitter than he didn’t get to drag his boyfriend up to his bedroom and peel his Brakebills South uniform off his body or better yet, make him ruin those clinging white pants.

He was sexually frustrated _and_ a bad boyfriend. And Quentin was hiding under a piano.

At some point he heard what sounded like a plate rattling against the floor but they’d left the room dark as night fell so maybe Quentin would feel safer. Eliot couldn’t see that anything had changed much when he poked his head in later that night on his way up to bed.

And hey, what was one more night on his own after a whole month with an empty bed and Quentin’s shit somehow still all over the place?

Nothing in the grand scheme of things.

\--------

There was a _sound_ like nails on a chalkboard. Then, the banging of something over and over. More scratching. A pathetic little cry. More banging. More scratching. A trilling, sad meow.

Eliot was awake.

It was _ungodly early._

Like the sun was barely out _early._

It was _Sunday._

The banging continued.

Eliot muttered to himself, throwing on a robe to go confront whatever inconsiderate monster was--oh, it was _Quentin._ Scratching at his door, throwing his little body against it. Obviously. What else meowed but a cat? And they weren’t allowed to have any more pets other than Cancer Puppy for fear that they’d _eat_ Cancer Puppy. Being that Cancer Puppy was so small that he was in danger at all times. Eliot should probably _tell someone_ to maybe take Cancer Puppy out of The Cottage for the rest of the week.

Quentin would never get over the guilt of killing such an innocent creature.

Certainly, Eliot would never stop _guilting him_ about waking him up so early in the morning.

And then--and then! Quentin had the fucking audacity to make a weird high pitched worried _“Hrng!”_ sound in the darkness of the landing the moment Eliot threw open the door to the attic bedroom and then scamper away into _Alice’s room_ because the door was cracked open. Gone in a white little flash. Eliot scowled at that open door. His boyfriend was probably nestling in close to some ridiculous pink faux fur blanket fort she’d made for him.

On Alice’s third hit from the bong she’s launched into a truly prolific monologue regarding her love of ‘kitties’ and all things feline. “Oh but they have the cutest little toes! Beans! Tiny little pink beans!”

She was conspiring against him.

 _Well._ That might just mean that Eliot had to step up his game then to win the affections of his boyfriend who had turned out to be for all accounts a scared little thing prone to hiding and scratching at Elliot's door before the sun came up.

He went downstairs and made some coffee. Kady _did_ make the best coffee, but she wouldn’t be up until around noon--like a normal person--so Eliot went and checked on the food and water in the other room. The saucer had been licked clean and pushed about a foot from its original place on the floor. He refilled both, cracking open another can of tuna with a satisfying little hiss of the metal lid pulling back.

_Tap tap tap tap tap._

Tiny little feet on the stairs. Coming closer.

Eliot placed the saucer back on the ground and went to the kitchen pass through door, peeking out as Quentin appeared, cautiously hugging the wall, belly almost to the floor. He sniffed the air and then deemed it a good enough offering to plonk down with his dumb little pointed cat chin fully in his food.

_But he ate._

And Eliot didn’t dare _breathe_ for fear of scaring him off.

_His tail was swishing back and forth._

He’d licked the plate entirely clean, sniffing around it for more.

Eliot had never been adverse to nudging second helpings of food at Quentin. He’d felt too sick at the thought of looking up the side effects of going off of antidepressants last night. But he somehow thought it had to do with food. Quentin never had the best appetite and if was skipping meals--

Regardless, Eliot could work on this now.

He went back to the kitchen and cracked open another can.

Quentin slid into the kitchen so fast his feet went out from under him on the linoleum and he fell into the side of one of the counters with a plonk. Eliot snorted. Quentin looked up at him, _betrayed_ and scampered from the room back under the piano.

_Fine._

So Eliot got a fresh saucer and plated up some more tuna, but instead of leaving it in the dining room, he left it by the doorway, in his range of sight.

Eliot made himself an omelette and drank coffee while he waited, keeping his back mostly to the doorway, but out of the corner of his eye there was no mistaking the little white blob creeping closer to the dish on the ground. Eliot kept on working at the stove while Quentin ate, the plate rattling against the floor with every bite, then the rough sandpapery sound of him licking the plate clean.

He turned around with his plate and his mug to eat in the window nook while he perused this month’s _Vogue Paris_. Quentin was sitting there, tail twitching back and forth against the floor in long arcs. He let out one loud “Meow!” and then ran forward, slamming his head and then his whole body against Eliot’s shin, tickling his bare legs below where the robe ended..

 _“Hey!”_ Eliot levitated the plate and the mug so he could bend over and pet his bunny soft fur on his side. “Hi, Q.” Quentin wiggled his butt at him on his next pass, walking back and forth rubbing against his shin. “There you are.”

Quentin purred when Eliot scritched him under the chin and closed his eyes, his face going all lax.

“Come on, sweetie.” Eliot nodded toward the living room. Quentin followed, weird to see him making so many tiny steps with his tail all up like a question mark over his body. At one point he stopped and stretched out, going from cat to _rubber_ with the dramatic curve of his spine with his paws all in front of him, flexing into the area rug on the floor, yawning a big yawn.

Quentin was already a window nook hog, he was _no different_ as a cat. Eliot had been kicked out multiple times so that Quentin could have the space all to himself to spread out his books, sitting all scrunched up in the smallest possible space. Which was _not_ how one was supposed to enjoy the window nook. It had a padded bench littered with pillows, long enough for even Eliot to stretch his legs out while seated, which he did now. The window nook was for relaxation and the occasional afternoon nap.

Now, it was for Eliot to try to eat his damn omelette while Quentin kept stepping on his lap, sniffing at the plate, generally making himself a nuisance.

“No--I’m not cleaning up your cat puke, baby.” Eliot told him firmly. Quentin’s claws flexed on Eliot’s thigh through the silk of his robe, little pinpricks of pain. “Don’t be an asshole, Q. Come on. I don’t want to make you sick.”

Cats could sound a hell of a lot like people when they sighed.

Eliot learned this the hard way. Quentin let out a great big sigh and plonked down on top of Eliot’s magazine with his head on Eliot’s knee looking up at him like, _‘Whoops’_ while the cover totally wrinkled under him.

What an asshole.

Eliot scratched him under the chin.

\--------

Was it weird that Quentin was more social _as a cat?_ And was he more social or did he just not have any fucks to give about being around everyone all the time?

He certainly didn’t give a fuck about laying where he wanted, whether it be in the _middle of the steps_ later that morning, across the top of the bar when it was all sunwarm in the middle of the day, or _in Todd’s lap_ where Eliot found Quentin when he got back from his shower.

“Homewrecker.” Eliot hissed at a stunned-looking Todd as he bent down to scoop up the sleeping cat off his lap. Quentin startled, all of his claws retracting, muscles going tense and then he tucked his sweet little head under Eliot's chin and purred. he allowed himself to be carried about the house under his arm while Eliot and Margo gathered supplies for an afternoon study picnic on the lawn outside.

Eliot brought Quentin with them and he spent a good hour chasing fat bumble bees and butterflies to absolutely no success. Not a hunter, that one. He had no patience to wait for the opportune moment to shrink when he saw one. Quentin would just throw himself in the air, clamping his front paws together on thin aim and land--mostly rather ungracefully--in a heap in the grass.

Eventually Quentin gave up his crusade against the bugs and laid out on the diagonal across the blanket, belly up and basking in the late afternoon sunlight, letting it soak into his fur. It was all too much of a temptation for Eliot to rub his tummy--which he would have done if Quentin _weren’t_ a cat--and so he did and Quentin stirred awake with a high little, _“Hmm.”_ trill and then melted back down onto the blanket.

“Awwwww dad, can we keep him?” Margo asked in a mocking petulant tone about the third time Eliot got distracted. Quentin’s whiskers are so interesting and twitchy whenever the wind blew. His little pink _nose._

“Yes, but only if you’re a good girl and practice your cello.”

“Ugh, that was too real.” Margo sneered and rolled back over to lay on her stomach, the fabric of her dress bunching around her upper thighs without a care. Her toenails painted a delicate coral. Lovely.

Quentin batted at him--reclaiming Eliot’s attention. He narrowed his eyes, with their strange pupils narrowing like theater curtains drawing closed. As it to say _I’m so fucking cute, pay attention to me!_

Eliot gave him more pets and Quentin’s eyes slipped closed, his body twisted with front and back legs going in opposite directions. He purred when Eliot scratched him under the chin.

And for just a moment Eliot thought, _I wish it could be this uncomplicated._

But then he remembered he had a boyfriend with a cute dick who could make himself come on command so--yeah. Maybe a bit complicated was good.

\--------

He slept in Eliot’s bed, a warm weight against the back of Eliot knees. Though, he did wake Eliot up with a headbutt to the chin and a worried little whimper. Eliot groaned and pointed in the direction of the steps to the attic. He snapped his fingers and the door popped open a few inches.

Quentin gave a grateful little sound and scampered off the bed, using Eliot’s feet as a springboard.

Eliot fell asleep to the sounds of him clattering around downstairs.

He woke to Quentin curled in a perfect circle, tail curled over his feet. Whiskers twitching when Eliot sighed and moved the air between them.

Eliot barely moved and Quentin’s eyes popped open, flexing his claws into the bedding as he yawned.

“Morning, Q. Breakfast?”

Quentin gave a frantic little sound and bolted for the door before Eliot could even get up and put his robe on. He doubled back to bat at Eliot’s feet as he shoved them into his slippers and slowly made his way down the kitchen.

Kady was making coffee _thank god._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of Eliot fantasizing about a potential threesome with another student, though nothing sexual happens in this chapter.
> 
> Mentions of Eliot and Margo's hallpass briefly during the end of the party scene.
> 
> ENJOY.

“No. Stay here.” Eliot said firmly, guarding the door with his feet like a goalie, gently herding Quentin away while he got a hand onto the doorknob behind his back. He kept trying to slip between Eliot’s legs and out the door.

Quentin made a haughty, betrayed sound and put his nose up in the air, storming off into the living room where he plonked down in a sunbeam and began licking his paw, swiping it over his face to groom himself.

Eliot stood there, feeling drippy and so fond all of a sudden.

But then Alice tramped down the stairs and frowned at him, and if  _ Alice  _ could resist Quentin enough to go to class, Eliot supposed he could too.

\--------

Quentin got out of the house and no one could find him for hours. Eliot blamed Penny, who blamed Alice, who blamed Margo, who blamed Todd. So eventually they just all blamed Todd--especially when the downpour began.

“But it  _ never rains here!”  _ Alice insisted.

“Well, when it does--it pours.” Eliot threw on his rain jacket and boots.

The locator spell wasn’t working. Apparently the copious amount of fur that Quentin shed on the daily was good for exactly nothing except getting everywhere.

So they split up. Penny grumbled but agreed to scour the sculpture garden when Kady looked at him intently. He was still in the metaphorical dog house, it seemed.

Alice and Eliot took off toward The Treehouse. Margo stayed as command central stating, “He’s a fucking cat. He’ll be fine. I’m not ruining my blowout for Coldwater.”

Eliot could hardly hold it against her. Her hair  _ did  _ look great.

So with massive umbrellas and a vague plan, they all set out in search of Quentin. Shield charms were all well and good for blocking out the rain, but they also blocked out a lot of the sound, and Eliot had a feeling they would hear Quentin before they saw him.

Logically, Eliot knew Quentin was probably fine, sheltered somewhere to stay out of the rain,  _ but _ he also weighed about eight pounds  _ so _ Eliot wasn’t going to take any risks. What if he fell into the bottomless fountain? Or was struck by lightning somehow? Or some unsuspecting first year brought him back to the Illusion Palace without knowing they were in possession of a cat who would be turning back into a person in about four days time?

They searched for him high and low. Looking up into trees, under bushes, behind lampposts. Eventually he and Alice knocked on the Treehouse door and asked if anyone had seen him. The girl who answered was perfectly nice, though clearly incredibly stoned. Her eyes went all huge at the words, “Missing cat.” and then suddenly there were a dozen Nature Kids all clamoring out into the rain, walking through the mud with no shoes on.

Josh was among them, “Hey guys!” he called, waving a walking stick he’d gotten from somewhere.

They searched for hours, until they ruled out the woods near the Treehouse and instead spread out to The Sea and the admin buildings. Other students popped out of buildings in rain jackets, with umbrellas to look for Quentin.

You could say this about Brakebills, they gave a shit about each other. Or at least they gave a shit about a missing cat.

The pouring rain soaked into Eliot’s pants and trickled down into his boots, wetting his socks. Every now and then a big fat raindrop would somehow hit him right between the eyes and roll down his face whenever he tilted the umbrella to look up.

It was starting to get dark by the time that one of the psychics popped a creepy message into his head despite his wards, “Library. He’s up in a tree and refusing to come down.”

“Jesus, what a stereotype.” Eliot muttered to himself, shivering at the creepy tone of voice they’d used. “He’s at the library!”

“Awwww!” Alice called from twenty feet away, her breasts spilling out of her sweater as she leaned over a garbage can to look inside.

Eliot didn’t really  _ get _ what was so cute about that idea. But then he was mostly focused on running across campus without falling on his ass before Quentin was  _ actually _ struck by lightning. Because he was up in a tree.

By the time they arrived on scene there were an odd dozen students milling about, Penny, Kady, and Julia among them. Quentin was a good twenty feet up, huddled against the trunk of the tree on a sturdy, strong branch about half way up the tree. Two of the psychics were standing without a care in the rain, working familiar tuts in tandem.

“Knock it off, no one is mind-controlling my boyfriend!” Eliot stormed over.

“Whatever.” The two replied in perfect unison. Their black hair falling in stringy tendrils around their faces.

Eliot stood there, debating if he could lift Quentin with his mind, but it was too risky when something was moving  _ against  _ him. He couldn’t risk dropping him.

A rather strapping Nature student stepped forward. Dressed in an old flannel, a zip up canvas jacket, and jeans that were positively clinging to his thighs with the rain, he looked like something out of a lumberjack romance novel, and when he said, “I’m a pretty good climber. I could go get him, bring him back down, I think.” Eliot almost swooned in his great big arms.

“Just be careful. He gets fighty when he’s scared.” Eliot said, nodding.

“Aww, he’s just a little guy. I’m sure i’ll be fine.” The Lumberjack said, pulling back his blonde hair into a knot. And Lumberjack guy would definitely feature in Eliot’s fantasies--particularly that one Quentin had brought up about  _ maybe _ bringing someone in for fun--for a long time.

He  _ was a good climber.  _ The guy easily scaled the tree, gripping old knots in the trunk with his hands and feet, making it to the first branch in a minute or so. Then it was really only a matter of him climbing another three branches, reaching up and then he had Quentin. The guy looked over his shoulder and gave everyone a thumbs up with Quentin cradled in one of his massive arms. He deposited Quentin into his jacket against him and then zipped it up more, so they could see the lump of his body pressing out against the fabric. But he seemed secure enough for the man to climb back down.

There was genuine  _ applause  _ from everyone _ , including Eliot _ , when he touched back down on the ground and unzipped the jacket, handing over a thin, drenched, pathetically mewling Quentin with a smile.

“Gee thanks, mister.” Eliot took his boyfriend back, followed the man’s example and tucked him into his own jacket, his sweater instantly wicking up the water trapped in Quentin’s coat.

“No big deal. Lemme know if he’s okay. I’m Chris, by the way.” Lumberjack Chris said, dreamily smiling a big smile.

“What, like Hemsworth?” Julia asked, suddenly there under the umbrella with him, narrowing her eyes at them.

The guy, Chris, smiled and shook his head. “Naw.”

But he  _ could have been. _

Would he attempt to gift Quentin this Lumberjack dressed as Thor for some costume party/elaborate threesome setup? Yeah, if easy going, cat-rescuing Lumberjack Chris’s up and down look at Eliot alluded to his interest. That was,  _ fuck.  _ Yup.

The lump inside Eliot’s jacket howled and shivered.  _ Right. _

“Catch you later, Chris.” Eliot waved and took off towards The Cottage. He heard people calling off the search from hill and dell across campus. Quentin was shaking from his head to his literal tail. Eliot pressed his free hand to his jacket, working a little one handed warming tut over his breast, hoping it would soak through the fabric into the chilly fur of his boyfriend.

“I’m gonna get him some warm milk!” Alice took off in the direction of the kitchen the instant they were home.

Eliot shucked off his jacket and left the umbrella on the porch outside so he didn’t have to bother with it dripping all over the slick floor of the foyer. Didn’t want to bother casting anything to get it to stop.

Somehow Quentin was  _ staggeringly _ small and pathetic, his fur clinging to his body in places and sticking out in half-dry tufts in others. His eyes looked positively huge, all golden with huge, round pupils in a tiny face, his ears all clamped back to his head. They could see his ribs.

Quentin could eat until he made himself sick for all Eliot cared, accepting a towel from Margo--who had them ready and warm downstairs--trying to rub some heat into Quentin while the cat made sounds that were just sad and pathetic. Eliot made some pathetic sounds too.

Quentin let out a tiny sneeze that shook his whole body and everyone in the room stopped getting themselves out of their wet boots and jackets to look over at him with expressions like  _ wasn’t that just the cutest, most concerning sound you ever did hear? _

“I can’t believe he’s even more pathetic like this.” Margo growled, passing an extra warm towel to Eliot when the first one was damp.

Quentin made an indignant sound and pressed his cold nose right into the v-neck of Eliot’s sweater, shivering and closing his eyes. 

He wouldn’t leave Eliot's side the whole night. Thus, Eliot was resigned to carrying Quentin about the house tucked into the terry cloth robe he changed into when his wet clothes became cold and made him break out in goosebumps. He ate his dinner quickly, standing at the counter shoveling pasta into his mouth robotically. Quentin feasted on tuna in one dish and then warm milk in another on the kitchen floor. And they both seemed a bit more steady on their feet after a good meal.

Still, Eliot tucked him back away in his robe and carried him up to the attic with another tin of tuna, a bottle of wine, and the little bottle of cat/grandma CBD that Josh had given him.

Margo knocked on the door a little while later in her pajamas and crawled into bed with them, she and Eliot shared the wine--Margo used the glass and Eliot drank from the bottle--and split a joint. Quentin sat in Eliot’s lap under the duvet, his little head and one paw poking out. A warm, purring weight. He could never get back up now. Eliot had rubbed a tiny drop of the CBD oil into his paw to chill him out a bit. 

Quentin was maybe catching a bit of a contact high but it seemed harmless. His pupils all blown, paws flexing on nothing.

They watched Ever After on Eliot’s laptop and Quentin got up halfway through and stumbled over the keyboard--pausing the movie by accident--to go get some water from a dish on the bathroom floor. Then he jumped and somehow missed the bed, hitting the side with an  _ oof _ and landing on the floor. Eliot leaned over the bed and scooped him up, dropped him on the bed.

Eliot found himself distracted from Angelica Houston’s magnificent performance as Quentin kneaded Eliot’s thigh with his paws for a good five minutes before he dropped himself down in his lap again, head on his crossed paws.

“Aww, he looks like he’s smiling.” Eliot snorted.

“I think the lack of sex has officially driven you fucking crazy. That little perv was sleeping in my underwear drawer this morning while you were in class.”

“Can hardly blame him for that. It’s all nice and silky in there.” Eliot muttered, pressing the back of his pointer finger to Quentin’s throat, feeling his purr.

“There’s fur  _ everywhere. _ I need to get everything dry cleaned now!” Margo argued, sloshing the wine in the glass so that it almost spilled on the bed,  _ on Quentin. _ Red wine on his comforter or his boyfriend’s white fur was  _ not  _ something he needed tonight. Even with a cleaning tut, it never looked quite  _ right _ afterwards.

“Bambi, you hardly ever even wear any of it. I’ll take them off your hands if you’re so concerned. Bill me.” Eliot took the glass from her and set in on the nightstand, tucked Margo more securely under his arm. She put her head on his shoulder.

“That shit was an  _ investment. _ I’ll let you have it if you let me watch just  _ one time.” _

Huh. And that was certainly a thought for when Quentin was no longer walking on four legs and totally unconcerned with the whole Cottage seeing his little cat butthole.

They watched the rest of the movie, Eliot petting Quentin and Margo absently playing with one of his back paws, pressing on the center of a foot until his claws retracted. Eventually Quentin got annoyed and swatted at her.

“Ugh! Dick!” Margo narrowed her eyes at him. Quentin flicked his tail at her and pressed the side of his face into Eliot’s hand, his eyes closing.

It was a good night.

\--------

Quentin slept  _ a lot.  _ Much more than he did as a human. He slept anywhere that he could. On the aforementioned stairs, Margo’s drawers, and the top of Eliot’s bar. Which, had  _ anyone _ else even set so much as their backpack on, Eliot would have set their belongings on fire.

But Quentin’s absolute preferred sleeping location was a sunbeam. He’d follow one as it tracked all the way across the floor throughout the day. On Friday, Eliot left for class to Quentin asleep on the window seat, glowing in the golden light of the sun. When he returned later in the morning, Quentin had moved to the floor, sprawled out in a long line with his paws in the air and his eyes half open.

Eliot got preparations ready for the party that night--not even having a cat for a boyfriend could put off a Physical Kid soiree--while he watched Quentin roll over, following the heat of the light whenever if moved past him on the floor. Eventually making his way up onto the coffee table to nap while Eliot sliced limes and then he plopped into the lap of an uncomfortable-looking Penny who just looked over at Eliot in question.

“Just don’t tease him too much about it when he’s back.” Eliot told him, went back to slicing.

Penny wasn’t a  _ great  _ choice as far as a lap went in that he really didn’t do anything but sit there stiffly with his hands up, holding his book out of the way. But he had a nice, broad frame and thus ample room to nap in. And Quentin clearly didn’t give a shit about anything other than soaking up heat like a lizard on a rock.

At one point Eliot  _ did  _ look up and notice Penny petting Quentin hesitantly, his book in one hand, the other scratching the top of his head.

\--------

“Holy shit! _ Incoming!” _

That was about all the warning Eliot got before a blur of white knocked into his ankles, turned on a dime chasing  _ a tiny red dot _ and then knocked over a floor lamp when his back feet lost traction on the hardwood floor.

Josh skidded into the room after him, giggling, with a laser pointer. Julia wasn’t far behind, pink-cheeked and eyes bright. They were high as  _ fuck _ on something. And Quentin was wide eyed and low to the ground, twitching and slowly stalking towards the red dot, which was hovering on Penny’s pant leg.

Eliot couldn’t say that Penny didn’t deserve it.

There was something really gratifying about watching Quentin spring across the room, dodging through legs and girls going “Awww he’s so cute!” until he made it to his prey and sunk his claws into Penny’s pants in victory.

“What the fuck?!” Penny jumped, knocking Kady’s drink from her hand and overturning one of Eliot’s carefully placed snack platters. With a wild look, Quentin sunk his teeth into Penny’s billowing pant leg and wrenched his head back and forth.

Then Penny disappeared into nowhere and Quentin dropped to the ground, nearly pancaking himself flat, head turning wildly in search of the red dot.

“That’s not fucking funny!” Penny announced, walking back in through the front door. He looked like he was about to knock Josh and Julia’s heads together.

“We gave him like the littlest bit! I  _ swear!”  _ Julia giggled, holding up her thumb and forefinger, pinched close together.

“What is it, Kitty Crack Cocaine?” Eliot demanded, approaching now. He watched with a raised eyebrow as Quentin was batting at the fringe on a girl’s skirt, up on his hind legs, trying to clasp some between his paws.

“No, just some catnip I'm paying around with. I’m thinking I should get into the pet market!” Josh said, handing over a little baggie of what looked like normal catnip, only it was glowing faintly and smelled like ozone when Eliot opened the bag.

And the second he  _ did _ open that bag, Quentin’s head turned and stared him down. His eyes were practically all pupil. Eliot zipped the bag back up and stuck it in his vest pocket, reaching over to jostle the laser pointer in Josh’s hand so he could distract Quentin from making Eliot a target.

He was a  _ terror.  _ It was hilarious.

The party pretty much devolved into watching Quentin go absolutely nuts over a piece string that Alice dangled over his head.

Eventually Quentin settled down and spent the rest of the night brushing against the legs of anyone he came across and shouting at them from the ground with his weird cat mouth until they picked him up. Quentin would stay for a while and eventually wiggle till they let him go, leaping down to the floor, landing with first front and then back legs. He came to Eliot the most often, tucking his head under Eliot’s chin and thoroughly ruining his outfit with white fur everywhere.

And thus Eliot carried him around from room to room throughout the rest of the party as it wound down with an arm clasped under Quentin’s furry behind and his whiskers tickling Eliot’s throat every now and then.

At one point he squirmed to be let go, so Eliot did, watching Quentin race up the stairs, probably to go hide in their room--for all intents and purposes, Quentin’s room was now just a place where Eliot stored his out of season clothing--up in the attic. Not unlike normal, human Quentin, who would usually hit a breaking point before the party was really over and need to go sit up there by himself. 

Sometimes Eliot would follow moments later, find Quentin just changed into pajamas and they’d make out lazily on top of the covers, ridding Quentin of those same pajamas moments later. Other times it would be a few hours since Quentin really  _ did _ need his alone time sometimes. Eliot would crack open the door quietly, take off his shoes at the base of the steps and carefully make his way into the room so as to not wake Quentin. Who  _ always _ woke up just to spite him, all grumpy and grabby, demanding that Eliot get over there so he had something to hold onto when he went to sleep.

It was the  _ best sleep. _ The attic room trapped all the heat so they usually opened the windows and let in the cool summer breeze. Eliot’s sheets were nice and light, the comforter just heavy enough to be felt. Plus, he had Quentin there. Quentin was a forceful cuddler. Really. He could not be deterred. He liked to tangle his legs up in Eliot’s and worm his way down in the early morning till his cheek rested on Eliot’s chest.

Sometimes he would wake up to Quentin gently nuzzling against him, rubbing his scratchy cheek into the fuzz of Eliot’s chest hair.

Eliot missed his  _ boyfriend. _

Spending his nights this last week with Quentin only a little weight over the covers was a pale comparison. Cute. And kinda funny. Certainly it was a distraction from the worry he felt about getting Quentin back on his meds soon. But he wasn’t sleeping the same. Especially since he’d not once but twice accidentally ejected Quentin from the bed with an unsuspecting roll/sprawl. 

There was only so much you could apologize to a cat hissing at you from the floor in an undignified sprawl. If it had been  _ Quentin  _ the man--the one less likely to sink down into the first available lap or let Alice scoop him up and hold him tightly while muttering, “Stay just like this! Oh my god, can we just get a cat after this?” with a wild look in her eyes--if he’d been Eliot’s  _ boyfriend, _ he would have tackled Eliot back into the bed all, “Make it up to me!” with his hands already wrinkling up Eliot’s shirt as he rucked it up.

Okay yes, that was to say Eliot was epically horny.

And mopey.

To have his boyfriend back with his clever fingers and his insistence on quickies that somehow turned into hours of lazy afternoon sex. 

Also to access how he was feeling after a month of academic torture and antidepressant withdrawal at Brakebulls South. To have some tough conversations. Which wasn’t a thing that Eliot looked forward to, but it would need to be done. He would probably make a lot of sandwiches that would go uneaten in the coming month. But he’d do it, not glady. He wasn’t  _ glad _ that Quentin might feel terrible acclimating to his meds. Eliot would do it because that’s what you do for the people you love, you take care of them, help them.

So eventually he and Quentin could settle back into something like the little life they’d carved out for themselves through the first semester.

It was--it was work, being in a relationship. Being emotionally vulnerable and being there for Quentin. Trying to relate to him on the few off long weekends of depression Eliot had experienced with him, when he wouldn’t get out of bed. When he rolled away from Eliot and said wild,  _ dark  _ shit about Eliot leaving. Sometimes it was exhausting. Sometimes  _ Eliot  _ went away after, to Margo or to kick around in London on a rough afternoon when he couldn’t be on campus without feeling like a scream was permanently lodged in his throat because he didn’t feel like he could do enough. And eventually Quentin would settle back down and so would Eliot and they’d ease back into human shit like eating regular meals and  _ getting out of the damn bed. _

So yeah, Eliot stayed downstairs through the end of the party, ended up pulled down onto the couch with Margo so she could sit in his lap and tell him all about Ibiza. So she could totally attempt to ramp him up with tales of total debauchery  _ and how she’d fucked Todd. _ Which, under normal circumstances, would not have turned Eliot on but his control was running on fumes.

And Margo was so warm and soft, right there. A great big weighted blanket kind of grinding against him right there in the living room.

Quentin was curious about threesomes in a casual way. Like how someone might consider a vacation destination and do a little research, but it would take them a while to book the tickets even if they were excited. He was close with Julia but not in the same way that Eliot and Margo were. Eliot and Margo had spent a considerable amount of time during their first year bringing boys and the occasional girl up to Margo’s room for fun. And it wasn’t uncommon for Eliot and Margo to leave the other person out of the equation all together and get down to business themselves. It was the  _ best _ kind of casual sex. They knew each other like lovers but had none of the baggage that went along with it.

Eliot knew that the only time Julia and Quentin had ever casually made out had been during that period in high school when two friends can make a deal to improve their makeout skills in a mutually beneficial agreement. Usually in a basement--or a hay loft--someone  _ always  _ caught feelings and got hurt. In this case, Quentin. So he and Julia had only ever made out the one time. It hadn’t gone well.

Margo and Eliot on the other hand, made out  _ all the time. _ It wasn’t a deal-breaker for Quentin. He seemed to understand that this was another facet of their friendship. That it always had been. Sometimes he kinda treated it like Eliot needed a handler while he was busy.

And the little  _ minx _ , Quentin had done it masterfully, let Eliot know it was okay. One afternoon early in their relationship, back even before they’d talked about being exclusive--thought the day that Quentin had sucked him off had marked the end of Eliot’s quest to make his way through every available boy in school--Eliot had sidled up to Quentin, pressed his nose against the back of Quentin’s ear and kissed down his neck just the way that he liked. Quentin hadn’t even looked up from his furious note-taking, simply ducked away from Eliot and said, “El, I’m busy. Go have Margo look after you, it’s fine.”

That had been that.

A hall pass granted for Eliot and Margo, who definitely got off together  _ less _ now that Quentin and Eliot were a couple, but there was some crossover.

Eventually he put his hands on Margo’s hips and stilled her. She nodded once and pressed a kiss to his forehead, nuzzled against his chest and told him all about the food--a safer subject than apparently Todd’s ability to take direction and constructive criticism during sex--while Eliot closed his eyes and just held her. It was strange, how lonely this could feel, when he was literally surrounded by people, when he knew Quentin was home and  _ safe. _

And  _ yet. _

It wasn’t the same.

A sharp little piece of him piped up that it  _ wouldn’t be the same _ for a while. There was an acclimation period, Quentin talked about. Switching up meds. He didn’t sleep. Didn’t eat. Was exhausted a lot of the time while his body relearned what to do with those chemicals.

And Eliot was  _ angry _ at this stupid school for putting them in this situation, at their friends--who’d been fighting to stay afloat themselves--and finally, at himself, because Eliot hadn’t even  _ considered _ this would be an issue. He’d been prepared to feed Quentin and then usher him upstairs for a weekend of breakfast in bed and sex. This was not  _ that. _

The few times that Eliot had come this week had been in the shower, quick and kind of a let down. And if he didn’t want to take up on her silent offer of going to her bed tonight or for the foreseeable future, that was the deal.

Eliot eventually bid the party farewell and climbed the steps up to his room. Quentin was all round, nose tucked under his tail and asleep when Eliot flicked the light on. He trilled and lifted his head, confused.

“Just me.” Eliot said with a raised hand and a soft smile.

Quentin flicked his tail once and dropped his head back onto his paws, eyes closing again.

Eliot got undressed, climbed between the sheets and flicked the light off with his mind. The moon was bright, showing through the sheer curtains of the attic room, casting a rectangle of soft light across the bed. Quentin’s whiskers twitched and his eyes popped back open, glowing in the near darkness.

Silently, on little paws he picked his way up to Eliot and head-butted him gently on the chin. Eliot smiled at him, “You’ll be back soon and we’ll fix this, okay?” he said in the quiet of his bedroom.

Quentin just plopped down closer to Eliot and purred, eyes closing.

It took less time than he expected, Eliot slipped into a deep, exhausted sleep.

In the morning he woke to an empty bed. Quentin’s bag was gone from the floor and one of his dresser drawers was hanging open.

He was back.

Eliot plonked back down with a sigh of relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This fic is so much fun to write. Lemme know what you think in the comments!


	3. Chapter 3

Maybe it was a bit of holdover from his week of being a cat or maybe it was just  _ Quentin.  _ But Quentin was nowhere to be found for the better part of a day. Not in the kitchen when Eliot finally rolled out of bed and went to go find some coffee. Not out back smoking a few of his awful cheap menthols, as he was sometimes wont to do on a quiet morning. Not in the reading nook, which was in full light, kind of opportune for lounging.

_ Nowhere. _

And his pills were gone from the top of Eliot’s dresser.

Not that it was  _ cause for alarm _ or anything, but after not speaking to Quentin for about 5 weeks, yeah, Eliot wanted to get an eye on him. He couldn’t exactly call up a search party like he had before. So he settled on putting on an impeccable outfit and waiting in the living room, ostensibly doing homework and definitely  _ not _ waiting for Quentin to come home like he was a dad in a terrible 90’s family sitcom and Quentin was his rebellious teenage daughter who’d broken curfew.

“Do  _ not _ do a locator spell on your fucking boyfriend.” Margo warned him around the 20th time Eliot had just  _ thought _ about it. “Shit’s clingy.”

So Eliot sighed and worked on his paper and didn’t perk up every time the front door popped open. Todd came and went  _ far  _ too often.

But then the problem became that Quentin didn’t come home at  _ all. _

Eliot started to actually get worried around dinner. Quentin would disappear for hours at a time--sometimes going to Jersey to visit his dad without telling anyone--because he needed space or to actually get work done without Eliot trying to telekinetically unbutton his clothes from across the room.

So Eliot did what anyone would do--he shooed everyone out of the kitchen and  _ cooked. _ “Family dinner or whatever the fuck.” He proclaimed, pouring himself a large glass of white wine like the middle class mother that he was. Eliot threw on his apron and set about raiding everyone’s groceries until he could pull together a meal to keep his mind off of worrying over Quentin.

He focused on slicing apples, toasting bread, chopping herbs and making compound butter. And if half the time, there was a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, but so be it. Eliot was reconnecting with his family roots-- _ shiver. _

Eventually, the dining room table was laden with a veritable feast of roasted chicken, stuffing with sage and rosemary, green beans topped with slivers of toasted almonds, a vat of mashed potatoes with a lake of melted butter, gravy, and an apple crumble still steaming from being pulled out of the oven. Eliot had taken pretty much every plate and bowl from the cupboards along with the entire silverware drawer and laid it all out for people to help themselves. It was enough food for twice the number of people they had.

To say that all of the physical kids were swarming around the edges of the room like sharks was an  _ understatement.  _ Margo was elbowing people out of the way, staring at the basket of rolls with a glimmer in her eyes that only cheat day could bring.  _ Penny  _ was there. And Julia.  _ And Josh. _ Fucking interlopers.

“Have at it, or whatever.” Eliot motioned for everyone to grab a plate and dig in, choosing to pour himself another glass of wine and step back into the kitchen to get started on the dishes. Wow, he wasn’t turning into his mother, he was turning into his  _ gram gram.  _ That was some passive aggressive  _ let me just let you all enjoy the meal I toiled over _ Waugh-family nonsense.

The kitchen door swung shut behind him, dulling the sounds of his housemates and friends loading up their plates with food, pouring drinks and settling down to eat wherever.

A couple minutes went by and the door opened slowly, Eliot up to his elbows in soap suds--you couldn’t trust magic to not leave water marks on crystal--turned and nearly dropped the champagne flute in his hands.

Quentin was standing sheepishly at the door holding a bowl of mashed potatoes, his mouth all screwed up to the side. Somehow he’d pulled his shoulders closer into his body, made himself more compact.  _ His hair was too long. _

“Hey.” He said, looking contrite with his mashed potatoes.

_ “Hey.”  _ Eliot stripped off his rubber gloves and threw them into the sink, uncaring.  _ Relief _ coursed through him, a palpable thing. Seriously, it made his knees a little weak. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Quentin echoed, still standing at the door in his familiar black jeans and his hoodie  _ both covered in cat hair. _ “Okay I’ll stop.”

“Don’t you dare,” Eliot exclaimed, taking the bowl from Quentin’s fingers and setting it on the counter so he could fully wrap Quentin up in his arms, stick his nose behind Quentin’s ear and take in his Pantene and fabric softener smell. He was as warm and solid as ever, letting Eliot loop his arms around Quentin’s middle, stooping low so there was nowhere for Quentin to put his arms than up around Eliot’s neck. It was kind of squished and  _ perfect.  _ “I missed you  _ so much.  _ Seriously.”

Quentin nodded against Eliot’s neck, quiet. “I was here.”

“Baby, you're a fucking cute cat, but it’s not a matter of  _ here.  _ I missed talking to you,  _ actually talking to you _ . Margo is entertaining enough, but the rest of these  _ people.  _ Don’t get me started,” Eliot grumbled. Quentin tensed up in his arms and so Eliot let him go, trying to figure out what was happening behind those eyes of his when he pulled away. “Where were you?”

Quentin let out a small chuckle, “My room?” one of his eyebrows went up like,  _ duh.  _ Eliot realized two things at that very moment: Eliot was stupidly in love with this man and Eliot was a  _ moron. _ The one place he hadn’t thought to check for all that Quentin hadn’t been sleeping in there for months.

“Ah.” Eliot nodded.

“You aren’t eating.” Quentin commented, gesturing to the dishes and Eliot’s commandeered kitchen, the overflowing ashtray by the stove.

“You’re eating mashed potatoes.” Eliot handed him back his bowl, pulled out a chair at the table by the window telekinetically and motioned for him to sit.

“I like mashed potatoes.” Quentin said, taking a seat. He dragged his spoon through them absently, not eating them yet. Eliot sat down next to him at the little round table.

“Any good?” Eliot asked, knowing full well that with three sticks of butter and a container of sour cream in them; they were  _ heaven. _

Quentin hummed and finally took a bite, nodding.

They didn’t talk much. Quentin was content to eat in the quiet of the kitchen, and Eliot eventually went and made his own plate. He brought back apple crisp topped with vanilla ice cream and set it down in front of Quentin, who mostly ate the ice cream and eventually pushed the plate away when most of it was gone.

Quentin slunk off when it came time to clear the table. Eliot, feeling a bit better about everything, found him up in the attic in his room an hour later, curled up under the covers fully clothed with a book tucked up under his chin, reading.

Eliot went through his evening routine early, quietly hanging up his clothes, washing his face and eventually climbing into bed beside Quentin in his sleep pants. Quentin rolled over quietly and put his head on Eliot’s shoulder, continued to read. Eliot dicked around on his phone, having to hold it at a precise 75 degree angle away from his head to get the tiny bit of reception that the attic afforded him. Mostly he kept getting distracted by the tiny whistle of Quentin’s breathing and how he fully stuck his foot up Eliot’s pajama pant leg to warm it.

Eventually Quentin’s page turning slowed down significantly enough that Eliot asked, “Time to sleep?” and Quentin nodded, yawning. “Okay--then you have to take off your jeans, weirdo.” 

So then there was much more yawning and eye rolling until Quentin tossed his jeans onto the floor, ignoring Eliot’s huff. Eliot shut off the light and snuggled in.

In the warm attic room, with the window propped open letting in a light breeze, Eliot fell asleep quickly wrapped around Quentin.

\--------

The next week was  _ rough.  _ Brakebills pulled no punches with their homework policy. Quentin was expected to make up all of his missed work within two weeks. So much for a bit of leniency for a guy who’d basically been assaulted by a teacher. Thank god neither of them would have to cross paths with Mayakovsky again.

“Don’t worry, Q.” Julia said, ruffling Quentin’s hair as they were stretched out across the floor of the living room. “Alice and I take great notes, and Kady’s got all the new tuts down. We’ll help.”

And Quentin had  _ grumbled _ while Eliot watched from the couch.

Quentin wasn’t sleeping much these days. He was late to bed, early to rise and twice Eliot had woken in the night to their bed cold, only to find Quentin sleeping in the tiny cabinet sized nook in the wall of the library, knees practically up around his ears to fit in there with all his books. Which meant that besides the nausea and general lack of energy that came with going back on his meds--there’d been no question of that, Quentin had just thanked Eliot absently for picking up his refill when his bottles ran empty a few days into his return--he was also exhausted and stressed out.

Eliot tried not to  _ hover;  _ he really did. Still, several times Quentin lost patience with him and snapped. This time Quentin growled under his breath when Eliot came sweeping into the room laden with a big snack platter for the  _ group-- _ but mainly for Quentin--during one of their intense homework sessions. He felt like such a soccer mom slicing oranges, emptying little bags of fruit snacks and chips into brightly colored, enticing bowls.

“We’re  _ fine.” _ Quentin snapped at him.

“Speak for your fucking self, dude.” Kady elbowed Quentin out of the way to scoop up a hand of Goldfish crackers. “Thanks, Eliot.”

Quentin just flipped the page in his book, annoyed.

Eliot swallowed back his retort as the rest of the group went back to their work.

Eliot slunk out of the room, a little bruised around the edges. But it was kinda like dealing with Margo when she was drunk; you had to put up with a bit of verbal abuse sometimes because she  _ didn’t really mean it.  _ Well, she didn’t mean it with  _ Eliot.  _ Just like Quentin didn’t mean it, since he would show up out of nowhere on silent socked feet and throw himself into Eliot’s lap or hug him from behind while he was making himself a drink at the bar. 

“I’m sorry.” Quentin said, voice fully muffled on the back of Eliot’s shirt where he could feel the vibrations of Quentin’s breath against his shoulder.

“I accept your apology. I made tater tot casserole.” Eliot said, having dumped all the components into a dish from childhood memory earlier that evening. It was sitting on the oven under foil, already missing a piece--Penny. He was the  _ ultimate  _ food scrounger.

So Quentin ate his tater tot casserole a little glumly, tucked under Eliot’s arm on the couch and they didn’t talk about  _ why _ he’d been upset in the first place.

If Eliot had learned anything about cats over the previous week, it was that you had to let them come to  _ you _ with their problems. Whether it was no food in their dish or a demand for attention lest they take a shit in your Italian leather brogues. So he was trying to take that approach with Quentin, to somewhat success, Eliot thought.

Finally one quiet evening in the library, while Quentin worked and Eliot polished his favorite pocket watch Quentin sighed and said over the crackling of the fireplace, “I couldn’t say anything.”

Quentin was sitting at the table, his many books spread out before him. It was late. He was almost done catching up on what he had missed. Eliot still thought he looked a bit thin--though he hadn’t really even seen him naked since he’d been back. But he felt bonier under Eliot’s hands at night under the covers before they went to sleep.

Suffice to say that Quentin’s sex drive had taken a hit and Eliot was handling its return about as well as he was waiting for Adele’s new album; with anticipation and a  _ bit _ of impatience. He was only  _ human. _ And Margo kept calling him soft but he couldn’t just go let her take care of him when Quentin was like this. When he was just a little wobbly there at the table, fidgeting with his pen.

“First I was like ‘What’s happening?’ and then when I realized I needed to say something about my meds it was just too late. And I couldn’t? But then--” Quentin looked furtively to the side. “But then I didn’t  _ want to? _ I didn’t want to have to ask for them.”

He looked up to Eliot then for confirmation. Eliot eased himself up off the leather couch and dropped to his knee next to Quentin’s chair, taking his hand. It was very Jane Austen of him, Eliot thought.

“It was fucking hell while I was there,” Eliot said. “Part of me was willing to do anything just to get through it to come home as soon as I could. You didn’t want to cause a conflict.”

“I started thinking maybe Fogg was  _ right. _ That maybe I’ve never been depressed or anxious. Maybe I was just mad.” Quentin’s voice rose and then he caught himself, peeking out the door. “But I’m just--I’m not mad at the world for feeling alone. I’m fucking depressed. Like clinically. Why do I always have this stupid hope in me that it’s going to just go away?”

“I don’t know. And I can’t say that it’ll ever go away,” Eliot said, “Maybe it’s incredibly unhealthy of me to say this--but I like you the way you are. All your ways. I like you when you’re my horny boyfriend who lets me put up the shield charm so we can fuck out on the patio. I like you when you’re grumpy and tired. I like you when you don’t seem to like yourself very much. I just like you.”

“That’s stupid.” Quentin said, contrary. He sniffed and tucked his hair back behind his ear. “You have bad taste.”

Eliot scoffed, tugging Quentin down towards him. “I have impeccable taste. Really, it’s my true emphasis.”

Quentin growled lowly under his breath, annoyed. Eliot nuzzled close and kissed him on the nose, his heart feeling very full.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t ask for what you needed,” Eliot said after a long moment. “And if I ever run into that Russian cockbag I will make him yearn for the sub-zero wasteland of Brakebills South.”

“That sounds intense.” Quentin commented, wiping under his eyes with the back of his hand absently.

“I’m an intense guy.” Eliot shrugged.

Quentin decided he’d done enough work and let Eliot bully him upstairs and into a hot shower. He  _ was  _ too skinny. That was a problem Eliot could help rectify.

\--------

They  _ did _ have to talk about the cat thing eventually, too.

“I sat on  _ Penny’s  _ lap?” Quentin asked, laying on his back on a blanket out on the Sea beside Eliot.

Quentin had clarified that he had many of the sense memories of being a goose, fox, and then a cat. He told Eliot he remembered the instinct to make himself as small as possible when they brought him back to the Cottage, and the weird hindbrain thrill of chasing one of those catnip mouse toys. But he didn’t remember the particulars that well.

“Yes, and neither of you looked particularly happy about it. But he was in your sunbeam,  _ so _ \--” Eliot broke off with a shrug. They were drinking wine from jam jars--Quentin insistent that packing wine glasses for a picnic was too fancy--and eating from a spelled charcuterie board that kept the cheeses at optimal temperature and the bugs away.

“Mmm.” Quentin sighed, let himself melt back into the grass. His feet were hanging off the end of the blanket and he kept flexing his toes in the grass. “I slept a lot.” He said to himself, then rolled over lazily for a sip of wine and a cracker. “That was nice--nothing to do all day but just sleep.”

“You could still do that.” Eliot commented. “We could be napping right now even.” He was still on his mission to get Quentin sleeping more. Several weeks in and Quentin had finally adjusted to his meds again. He was eating without much of a fight--Eliot still pretty much plied him with baked goods and starchy, cheesy foods--and sleep wasn’t as illusive. But he could have been taking  _ more _ breaks as far as Eliot was concerned.

“No, ‘m all wine tipsy. If I fall asleep now I’ll wake up at seven and it’ll feel like it’s been three years.” Quentin shook his head warily. “I kinda liked it--that’s odd.”

“Yeah, kitten?” Eliot only half joked, head propped up on his hand so he could fully take in Quentin’s side eye.

Quentin made a noncommittal sound, squinted against the sunlight. “Was nice not really worrying about much, I remember I liked having your attention. Purring. That was cool. Weirdly satisfying.”

Eliot scooted closer and the neat little arch of Quentin’s lower back was  _ right there _ for Eliot to drop his hand onto, rubbing over him through his t-shirt. “Cats are vain creatures. They liked to be looked at.”

“That’s not me.” Quentin shook his head, drained the last bit of his wine and flopped over onto his back, throwing both his legs over Eliot’s knees. Eliot’s hand settled on his stomach. “That’s not--” his eyes flicked over to Eliot and then away quickly. “I uh--felt like I was yours? Like you owned me.”

And now it was time for Eliot to purr. The words jolted through him unexpectedly. Quentin was his boyfriend, sure. But Eliot didn’t feel proprietary about that. He didn’t feel like he had any right to dictate what Quentin did beyond maybe coercing him into the basic business of going to bed at a reasonable hour and maybe a second helping of dinner. But that was,  _ fuck. _

“What--uh, how exactly?” Eliot asked, feeling oddly clinical about the whole thing.

Quentin blushed and looked away like,  _ I can’t believe I’m doing this. _ But the fact that he’d even brought it up at all--Eliot was sweating. “I guess like I knew you’d give me what I needed, that you’d take care of me, and you’d protect me. I remember the tree and being just  _ terrified _ but then you were there and you carried me back in your coat. It was so warm--it smelled so good--and you just knew what to do. You fixed it. Because I couldn’t.”

Huh.

Well that opened up a whole Pandora’s Box of  _ things  _ inside of Eliot. In the moment he’d just felt like he was working on instinct, no time to feel anything other than panic and guilt. When Quentin described it, Eliot felt the warm swell of pride inside him. Like he’d do anything to take care of Quentin.

“I don’t uh--” Eliot began, rocking his jaw back and forth trying to puzzle out his next words. “That’s a lot of responsibility.”

Quentin blinked rapidly, his stomach tensing under Eliot’s hand. “It’s  _ weird. _ Forget it.”

“No, no, no. Q, wait.” Eliot said, “I like the idea of that. It’s just a lot of pressure. It’s super fucking hot if i’m honest.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eliot answered. He repositioned them so they were lying closer side by side, his arm under Quentin’s head, his hand curling over the back of Quentin’s legs so he was more firmly curled around Eliot’s body. He liked feeling the weight of Quentin across his thighs. “I don’t know what that looks like, you letting me  _ own _ you for a spell.” Quentin’s eyes were warm and liquid, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. Luckily there were few other people out here this late in the afternoon. Their blanket was a ways away from everyone else. “We’d have to talk about what you want, what our limits are.”

“Um, okay?” Quentin nodded. “But this isn’t  _ really _ a cat thing, alright? I don’t wanna chase a ball around or drink out of a dish on the floor or anything like that.”

As weirdly a delightful picture that made, Eliot nodded. “Alright. Whatever you want. We’ll get you out of that brain for a bit. Okay?”

Quentin nodded, leaned in close and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Sweet.

“You could pet my hair, if you wanted?” Quentin said, a bit shy. Very,  _ very  _ quietly between them.

“Yeah, alright Q.” Eliot said, losing himself in the afternoon sun with Quentin tucked in close to his side, his hair warm and silky under Eliot’s fingertips.

\--------

_ Three weeks later _

So getting mail delivered to Brakebills was kind of an  _ ordeal. _ Everything had to be sent to a muggle P.O. box in the nearest town and then eventually, sometimes days after delivery, they’d get a little notice slipped under their doors that there was a package or mail waiting to be collected over in Admin.

Eliot, having spent the better part of three evenings furtively googling and then comparison shopping on one of the sad, old computers in the Tech Shack, was beginning to feel like every morning had the potential to be Christmas. But every morning there was  _ nothing,  _ no slip of paper letting him know  _ today was the day! _

Until it finally  _ was _ the day and Eliot practically ran across campus to collect his unassuming brown cardboard box from a designated cubby with his name on it. He felt somewhat like he was traveling with a live animal in his hands as he brought the box back over to The Cottage, like the box was liable to fly out of his hands at any moment and skitter away. So Eliot clamped it under one arm and quietly slipped back into the house.

He slid the box under his bed where Quentin would never stumble upon it and attempted to make it through his classes that day without completely distracting himself with thoughts about  _ tonight. _ It was somewhat of a success, though Margo kept looking over at him with a puzzled expression on her face and she just sighed, annoyed when Eliot basically abandoned her in the living room the moment Quentin arrived back from his library study session that night.

“You’re being weird.” Quentin said, though he didn’t argue when Eliot pulled him up the stairs by the hand and into the attic.

“It’s here.” Eliot said, which would have been cryptic if Quentin’s eyes hadn’t immediately gone  _ huge _ and knowing. “I didn’t open it yet.”

Quentin paced back and forth across the attic, running a hand through his hair. “I think you should--you should look at it first. Make sure it’s what you wanted.”

Eliot nodded, stopping Quentin with an arm around his waist, pulling him in. “Why don’t you go take a shower and I’ll take a look at it. Then we can talk about it.”

Quentin looked around furtively, “Eliot we already  _ talked about it.” _ he grumbled. “What if I like, totally freak out?”

“Then we stop and have an otherwise lovely evening, I guess.” Eliot said, holding him close.

They’d done a lot of talking over the last few weeks. Talking that had led to making out with Quentin hungrily moaning into Eliot’s mouth, straddling him. Talking that had ended in Quentin awkwardly shrugging and saying things like, “I guess you can call me that.” Talking that left Eliot feeling hot and tingly all over with possibility, because this a new shiny quarter of a thing for both of them and it was also kinda fucking terrifying.

Quentin sighed. He hugged Eliot back and scampered off to take his shower, leaving Eliot to carefully slice open the tape on the cardboard box, revealing yet  _ another,  _ smaller and nicer box. It was shiny and black, the kind of good hard cardboard that gift boxes were made from. Eliot sat down on the edge of the bed, and carefully lifted the lid.

After hours of searching and thinking about it, Eliot had gone against his initial instincts and gone for something somewhat  _ understated.  _ Because that was just one of the things he liked about Quentin; he was understated. He didn’t need ostentatious clothes to call attention to himself.

Inside the box there was a slim band of leather about an inch wide. Navy blue leather with little gold rivets spaced along the outside every inch or so, the inside was a buttery black suede. In the center there was a D ring attached to the collar with a small gold heart swinging back and forth when Eliot lifted it from the box. The tag caught the light, Eliot stilled the movement to read the engraving across the metal surface,  _ ‘Q’. _

It was exactly what he’d ordered.

Eliot sat there with it in his hands for several long minutes until the shower shut off. Anticipation made heat course through him as he smelled the steam traveling out from under the door to the bathroom, the smell of Quentin’s shampoo and Eliot’s body wash that he stole.

And it was there, sitting on the bed that Eliot had to just smile to himself. To think they’d come back to normal somewhat over the last month, only to find themselves on the precipice of another great adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Hope you all don't mind that I spilled my can of D/s all over the end of this haha! I hope to keep adding smutty, sweet stories to this verse!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments!


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